Absinthe
Art Nouveau decor throughout the main lounge pays homage to an era when architecture and interior design were the perfect marriage of form, function and art. The walls are purples and pinks which blend into more subtle hues with the constant green lighting. Small tables with four tall chairs can be found scattered about the room. Large purple couches can be found nestled between the table sets, and in front of a smaller stage used for poetry readings.
The bar itself is long, taking up the entirety of a wall. Tall chairs are scattered on the patron side, and behind the bar is a beautiful greenish glow. The glow comes from the shelving where the majority of the alcohol is stored. The nearby glass racks reflect the glow splendidly as well.
| Characters: |
  |
The drive back from Ft. Worth was less hectic than it was during the daytime. Apparently sunset had a calming affect on the general populace, and the more curteous, polite drivers peopled the interstate. Still, it was enough for Mia to want to do something out of the ordinary. For the stay at home person she is, that meant getting dressed up and going out to a bar. Not exactly a party-girl, the excursion to Ft. Worth made her daring.
So, once she's dressed in something other than jeans, Mia once more takes to the roads, finding herself near the Texas State Fairgrounds. She's heard of Absinthe from some of her co-workers, and now it's time for her to find out what it's like for herself. Parking the minivan, Mia heads inside.
Confronted by the Bohemian atmosphere, she could almost swear she was back in San Francisco, maybe in Fisherman's Wharf, or Sausalito, or even the old Haight-Ashbury district. The decor and ambiance are acceptable, so she finds a table — a lady never sits at a bar! — and settles in for a relaxing night of drinking.
~~@~~
Fortunately for Steve, he's not a lady, so there's no reason he can't sit at the bar. Of course, he has to enter first, which he does, leaning on his cane with every other step. He pauses briefly inside the door to see whether or not he knows anyone here. He doesn't seem to, so he makes that bee-line for the bar, approaching with a smile for the bartender and a request for a Crown and Coke.
~~@~~
Seeing as it's one of the "open mike" nights, Mia is intrigued. There are a few local poets who take the stage, performing their pieces with varying degrees of expertise. One young woman is soft spoken, her poetry all sorrow and sadness and lost love. The man who follows her is angry, crying out his fury at the world with a loud voice, gutter-language and street talk. Another recites an epic which leave his audience yawning in their drinks.
Mia has always loved poetry, and enjoys the various performances, applauding appropriately. It takes at least two JDB and cokes before she begins to work up the courage to rise and place her name on the list.
The girl keeping track tells her it'll be at least 15 minutes or so before Mia's called, so she returns to her table. On the way back, she stops at the bar, ordering a double JDB and coke. A strong drink, liquid bravery. Taking a deep breath, Mia downs half the drink in one gulp. She needs a lot of courage, apparently. A gasp as the "double" part of the drink hits home with a vengeance.
~~@~~
The gasp of a young lady from a table nearby draws the attention of the former hero, although his expression shows only mild interest. He turns his head and spots Mia, but nothing seems to be wrong with her, so he turns back to his drink, hunching forward a little. Someone asks him a question, but he shakes his head.
~~@~~
Finally, the young woman calls. "Our next performer comes to us from the land of hippies and free-love, so please welcome Mia from San Francisco." Closing her eyes a moment, Mia steels herself for the coming ordeal. She smooths down her dress with sweaty palms, and makes the long walk forward to the stage. The microphone stand must be adjusted, but Mia long ago learned how to do that.
In moments, she's seated on a tall stool, legs demurely crossed at the ankles. Clearing her throat, she closes her eyes and speaks. "Cold winds howl at night. Ice and snow encrusted limbs. Branches sweep the ground."
There is something compelling in the way the Eurasian woman speaks. The words are few, the form haiku, Japanese poetry which tells a story in seventeen syllables. There's winter in her words, and cold in her stillness.
~~@~~
Steve doesn't seem even a little interested in poetry, but at least that one was short and sweet. He gives the girl an awkward slow-clap for that short poem. He probably didn't pay enough attention in high school English to learn how to appreciate the subtleties of the terse, seasonal verse-form.
~~@~~
The scattering of applause is encouraging. Mia gives an almost shy smile. She recites another winter haiku, again receiving some applause. Three poems is about her limit; with shaking knees, Mia stands, addressing her audience in a dulcet voice.
"Strength comes from within. Spirit stands independent. Live life in courage."
And that, as they say, is that. Her performance ends, and she bows to the patrons who patiently listened. Mia then flees the stage, heading not back to her original table, but to a shadowy booth. She grabs her drink and purse first, of course, but it's into the shadows she cowers, her Dutch courage spent.
~~@~~
Steve only claps the first time, since he doesn't feel like clapping every time the girl spits out seventeen syllables. But he does watch the girl as she comes back to the table, giving her a vague nod.
~~@~~
Unfortunately, Mia is in such a rush to escape the sea of eyes she misses Steve's vague nod. If he's still watching, he sees she goes to that booth and literally shrinks into a ball in the farthest corner. It's almost like she decreases her already diminutive size. Odd how humans can do that, literally shrink into themselves.
A waitress does notice Mia's new seat and asks if she'd like something. There's a moment of indecision, and then Mia nods. "Yes, please. I would try the absinthe," is softly said. "I've heard it is good for the … times like these."
The server doesn't comment, merely comes back to the bar and orders the drink. "That's one freaked out woman," the waitress tells the bartender. "Totally, like, scared of her shadow or something." Of course, this is said loud enough for Steve to hear at the bar, and maybe even loud enough for Mia to hear in her booth.
~~@~~
Steve glances over his shoulder at Mia and heaves a slightly weary sigh. He motions to the bartender and then makes a gesture in Mia's direction. He's sending her a drink, whatever she had before, he tells the bartender. Then he reaches into his pocket and takes out an aspirin or some such pill, swallowing it with some alcohol.
~~@~~
When two drinks arrive for her, Mia is slightly confused. She questions the waitress who brings the drinks, and her only answer is a vague gesture to the man (with the cane) at the bar. Nodding, the Eurasian woman accepts both glasses, taking the one with pale, green liquid and lifting it to her lips.
Not being a fan of licorice, Mia makes a face at the taste. Setting it aside, she picks up the JDB and coke, a much more familiar drink. This, then, is the drink the stranger sent to her. It is only polite to thank him, and if she's not alone, it's all right for a lady to sit at the bar.
Leaving the absinthe where it sits, Mia slides out of the booth, carrying her other glass and her purse to the bar. "Excuse me," she says to her benefactor. "I understand it is you I have to thank for the drink."
~~@~~
Steve looks at the drink in Mia's hand, then Mia, nodding with a slightly sheepish expression. "Yeah," he says. "You looked like you had some post-stage fright. I thought I ought to send the cure."
~~@~~
Mia looks a little embarrassed, her cheeks a burnished gold that almost seems to glow in the strange lighting of Absinthe. "Ah … yes, well, I do not often perform in public," she explains, leaning against the bar. "In fact, that was the first time." An admission which shouldn't come as a surprise, considering how she seemed to get reverse stage fright.
"And this is the cure?" Mia asks, lifting her glass to take a sip. A soft gasp — the bartender took him at his word and gave her another double — and Mia sets the drink on the bar. "Yes, I see how that could cure … almost anything. It cured me of my lack of courage. Perhaps it will restore same?"
She cants her head to the side. "You look familiar. Have we met before? Perhaps … where I work?"
~~@~~
"I don't know," Steve answers. "I mean, I have no idea where you work, right?" He picks up his drink and has a sip of it. "You're lucky you got to have a good first experience. Wasn't embarrassing and nobody booed."
~~@~~
"Oh. Well, yes, I suppose that's true," Mia says, sipping the drink this time. "Though I'm not sure I'd call it a a good experience. I was sweating bullets the entire time, praying no one would see my knees knocking together." She attempts to smile, but it's a bit on the tremulous side.
She continues to sip the double JDB, and finally sets the half-empty glass down for a break. "Well, let's just say my job deals with the public and I have to talk to lots of people daily. There's no logical reason I should've been nervous." A shrug. "No understanding human nature, I guess."
~~@~~
"You're not supposed to /watch/ poetry, anyway," Steve answers with a shrug. "The 'public,' huh?" he replies, sipping his drink again. "And yes there is a reason. Don't you think?" he turns his head to look more directly at Mia. "Just because you talk to lots of people doesn't mean you show them what's inside you. Your soul, or whatever you want to call it."
~~@~~
Mia seems to consider what Steve says, then nods. "I see that, yes. What I do at the museum is … most of it's from memory. Reciting facts isn't quite the same as performing something I wrote myself. That's the difference." She takes a breath, then slowly exhales. "I let myself get in a total state because I was letting strangers see me, not a tour guide."
With a little effort, petite Mia manages to get herself up onto the bar stool next to his. "Mia," she says by way of introduction, "but I suppose you heard the girl announce that." She takes another sip of the drink, relaxing a little more now it's all over. "I didn't, however, ever get an answer from you. Have we met before? I know I've seen you before someplace."
~~@~~
Steve shakes his head. "Like I said before, I don't know if we've met. I don't recognize you, but I'm not great with faces. I haven't been around here too long, though. I lived in LA until a couple months ago." He pauses. "Not that I'm /from/ there." A smile. "But I don't get into a lot of museums." He puts out a hand. "My name's Steve. Nice to meet you, Mia."
~~@~~
"I've only been to L.A. twice, and I know I didn't meet you then, 'cause I was seven and ten respectively," Mia says, studying him as she shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, Steve. Please forgive my lack of attention before. I'm still a bit frazzled." She drains the last of her drink, and gives that "ooh, too much alcohol" shiver as she sets the glass down. "I don't think I'll have another of those. I won't be able to walk, let alone drive."
She requests a glass of club soda from the bartender, and offers to buy Steve another drink. As she reaches for her purse, she accidentally bumps Steve's cane. Her reflexes are good, and she catches it before it falls. "I'm sorry. Didn't notice it there. I'm such a klutz, these days."
"So, where're you from if you're not from L.A.?" Mia asks, her smile a little more pronounced now. In fact, she seems very calm, composed and cool now.
~~@~~
Steve shrugs, not seeming particularly offended that she didn't pay him much attention. "Yeah, you don't look like you drink a lot," he observes. The liquor doesn't seem to bother him much at all, although his eyelids are a little droopy. His reaction when the cane is bumped is very slow. He puts a hand out when Mia has already caught it. Then he smiles and rights it. "No problem. And yeah, I'll have another." He shrugs a shoulder. "I'm from around here, practically."
~~@~~
"Really?" Mia waves the bartender over. "He'll have another of what he's drinking. On me." When the guy leaves, she again turns toward Steve. "I'm from San Francisco, myself. The family's still there — well, all but me and my oldest brother. We flew the coop. I've only been back once since moving here."
When Steve's drink arrives, Mia takes a moment to pay the 'tender, and give him a tip. "Nope, I rarely drink hard liquor. Today was a bit frustrating, and so I decided I'd see what it's like to … go out and pah-tay!" Coming from Mia, that sounds as ridiculous as it's spelled. "So far … it's not so bad. I'm not feeling any pain, that's for certain."
Her club soda is sipped. "You come here often, then? The bartender called you by name."
~~@~~
Steve bobs his head. "Yeah," he agrees, "I know about flying the coop." He looks a little skeptical about Mia pah-tay-ing, closing one eye as he looks at her. "Most bartenders at the bars worth going to know me by now," he reckons.
~~@~~
"I had friends in college like that," Mia says, smiling a little wider. It would seem the more inebriated she feels, the more easily she smiles. "Known at all the good bars, things like that. I was never known much of anywhere except the History Department. I was very well known there."
That seems to please her, though, because she giggles. "Nope, not a party girl, me. You, though. Guess you're the guy to ask about good bars to frequent. So, tell me. Which bar do you think would suit me best? If I were going to try to become a party girl, that is."
Another soft giggle, and Mia leans her elbow on the bar. Otherwise, she might topple over. ALl that alcohol has suddenly hit her like the proverbial hammer.
~~@~~
"I didn't go to college," Steve says, "But I guess I could've majored in Thirsty Thursdays." He drains his drink and picks up the next. "You?" he asks, looking her over. "Maybe Bass Clef. They have jazz. You look like you might like a bar with a little culture."
~~@~~
"Bass Clef. I'll remember that." A pause. "I think. If I'm not too inebreated after those doubles." Mia laughs, hand over her mouth as is the wont of many Japanese people. "Not many of my family drink. Oh, the occasional bottle of sake, and my youngest older brother loves his beer, babes and bikes."
The club soda disappears eventually, most of it swallowed in one large gulp. "I'll have to check out this Bass Clef. Where is it, exactly? What part of town, I mean. I don't have GPS in my old clunker. I'm lucky it has a radio that works." A shake of her head. "I really should trade it in, but with prices getting so high for gas, at least the minivan gets good mileage."
When the bartender asks if she'd like anything else, Mia shakes her head firmly. "In fact, I really should visit the ladies and then head on home. I've got to open the museum in the morning. Yeah, no sleeping in on Sunday for me." She sighs, turning to spot the "restroom" sign. "I'll be right back, Steve. If you think of any other places you think I'd like, just jot 'em down on a matchbook cover or something." With that, she's off the stool and heading to the ladies room.
~~@~~
"A whole bottle of sake's plenty for most families," Steve remarks. He rubs his forehead, between the eyebrows. "I don't know, you should probably Google it," he advises. "I can't think right now. I drive an old car myself, but I have GPS on my phone." Steve nods, rubbing the back of his head and leaning forward over his drink.
~~@~~
"I never thought of that," Mia says, returning from her quick bathroom break. "I probably have GPS on my phone, too. I'll check it out when I get home — to which I should probably be making my way. Soon, at least." She stands now, at the bar beside Steve. "It was nice to meet you, by the way. Sorry I wasn't better company. I guess next time I'll stick to singles."
She places a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You take care, and don't drink too much more or you won't be able to drive. I'm going to be praying Dallas PD doesn't spot me weaving or something. I'm sure they'd love to make me pay through the nose for my little indiscretion." Another soft giggle, and Mia turns, releasing Steve's arm.
"See you 'round, cowboy," she says, chuckling as he makes her way to the door. Party girl. Right.
~~@~~
Steve smiles at Mia. "Nice meeting you," he says, looking pretty fuzzy, himself. "Oh, yeah…" he says. "Maybe take a cab if you can't figure the clear roads…" he murmurs.
~~@~~
At least Mia manages to negotiate her way out of the bar. Getting home? — well, they do say we all have a guardian angel. Mia's probably has gray hair by now.
~~Fin~~
